


Fit to be Tied

by fearfully_beautifully_made



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Dildos, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Excessive Lube, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, Light Bondage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Sherlock Holmes in Panties, Smut, Spanking, There's not even a whiff of plot it's just smut, This is filthy... I have no excuse., Top John Watson, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:01:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26219038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearfully_beautifully_made/pseuds/fearfully_beautifully_made
Summary: "There were certain things that Sherlock didn’t want to say out loud. It was part of the fun of it. For instance, he didn’t want to have to tell John when to tie him up and have his way with him, he wanted John to figure it out (and much to his credit, John usually did). He didn’t want to tell John when he wanted to give him a blow job, he wanted to be able to drop to his knees and simply start sucking John’s cock (and again, to John’s credit, he usually allowed it with very little protest no matter what he was doing).But there was one thing that Sherlock truly struggled to get John to do without having to verbalize it, and that was spank him. He’d loved it when John spanked him, he loved how hot and embarrassed he got when had John tugged him over his knee and jerked his pants down to smack his bottom until it was red and hot. He loved the way John talked to him, told him he was a naughty boy, it was mortifying and even the thought of it made Sherlock hard as a rock.The effect of the embarrassment, however, was completely ruined if Sherlock had to ask for it first."Or: a fic in which Sherlock gets his way and gets spanked. (Fair Warning: it's literally just 7k of smut.)
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 30
Kudos: 287





	Fit to be Tied

**Author's Note:**

> ... I have no excuse for this. It's literally just smut. If you don't want to read something that has no plot (I don't blame you) please hit that back arrow now. 
> 
> As always, I own nothing and make no profit from this work, etc. 
> 
> Enjoy!

There was no denying that Sherlock was a complex being with many facets of himself, this was no different when it came to his sex life. John, lovely, surprising, perfect John, had been the absolute best thing that could have ever happened to Sherlock. The man hadn’t been given the moniker Three-Continents-Watson for nothing, he excelled in everything Sherlock ever asked him to do in bed. And it never took much convincing. 

The only trouble was that there were certain things that Sherlock didn’t want to say out loud. It was part of the fun of it. For instance, he didn’t want to have to tell John when to tie him up and have his way with him, he wanted John to figure it out (and much to his credit, John usually did). He didn’t want to tell John when he wanted to give him a blow job, he wanted to be able to drop to his knees and simply start sucking John’s cock (and again, to John’s credit, he usually allowed it with very little protest regardless of what he had been occupying himself with prior to that). 

But there was one thing that Sherlock truly struggled to get John to do without having to verbalize it, and that was spank him. He’d loved it when John spanked him, he'd loved how hot and embarrassed he got when had John tugged him over his knee and jerked his pants down to smack his bottom until it was red and hot. He loved the way John talked to him, told him he was a naughty boy, it was mortifying but even the thought of it made Sherlock hard as a rock. 

The effect of the embarrassment, however, was completely ruined if Sherlock had to ask for it first. Which is why they’d only done it once and never again. 

Sherlock _needed_ to remedy this because it was driving him to distraction. He couldn’t stop having ridiculously hot dreams about John spanking him until his bottom was red and swollen with heat before he pounded into him and brought him to screaming orgasm. He found himself drifting off in his thoughts throughout the course of day as he imagined John bending him over the nearest surface and taking a wooden spoon (or a hair brush or any number of seemingly innocent household items) to his arse. Sherlock had even gone through the trouble of finding a table tennis paddle and setting that out in John’s line of sight. He made a show of draping himself over surfaces and putting his bottom on display. He'd done everything short of getting a flashing, neon sign to hang over his head demanding that John spank his bare arse. 

The trouble with this sort of approach was that John wasn’t always quite as good at putting the pieces together as he could be, his deductive reasoning left something to be desired. Although, in complete fairness, this sort of behavior had led to some truly spectacular sex, John was really a huge fan of his arse, but it hadn’t been enough to get him spanked.

So Sherlock had set about doing all sorts of destructive things which aggravated John to no end, but that had rather the opposite effect than he’d intended. John would get so frustrated with the holes burned in his jumpers, the foul odors filling the flat, and the experiments taking over the kitchen that he wouldn’t be in the least bit interested in touching Sherlock in any sort of sexual manner.

And so it was quite by accident on a day, like hundreds of others, that Sherlock discovered how to get John to give him a spanking. Sherlock was in the kitchen working on experiments, wearing nothing but a skimpy thong that John hadn’t seen yet and his bathrobe (he had, of course, been hoping for sex later). John had spent the day tinkering around in the kitchen, tidying up and cooking breakfast that Sherlock mostly ignored (except for the strawberries, John knew he couldn’t resist fresh strawberries, damn him.) Sherlock had just bent over to look into his microscope when he felt the bottom of his robe flip up so his arse was on display. He shuddered and almost lost his balance from the suddenness and from the rush of blood leaving his brain to travel southward.

“Sherlock Holmes,” John murmured, “What are these, you naughty little thing?”

And there it was, the word that Sherlock equally loathed and adored, _naughty._ A soft whimper escaped his throat as John's fingers trailed along the fabric of the thong, teasing his delicate skin and making goose pimples rise along his exposed backside. 

“These aren't even boys pants, are they?” John asked, his voice low and husky as he cupped Sherlock’s buttocks in both hands and squeezed them, pressing them together before he drew them apart to run his forefinger under the piece of fabric nestled between his buttocks once more, forefinger barely touching Sherlock's hole.

Sherlock gasped and his legs spread themselves of their own volition.

And then it happened, John’s palm fell heavy, with stinging precision on Sherlock’s right buttock. “I asked you a question,” John growled low in his throat and Sherlock’s cock leapt to attention. “Are these girl’s panties, Sherlock?”

Sherlock nodded, “Yes,” he whispered, feeling dirty and horny, his erection already poking out of the top of the panties. John loved it when he wore women’s panties, he always said Sherlock’s arse looked phenomenal in them (and it did). 

John rubbed his hand thoughtfully over Sherlock’s buttock, trailing his fingers over the stinging palm print he’d no doubt left there, and Sherlock whimpered desperately, hoping that would be enough to convey his desire for John to turn his entire bottom cherry red. 

“Well,” John said, “I think naughty boys who wear women's undergarments deserve to be spanked, don’t you agree?” John reached around and snaked his hand through the slit in Sherlock’s dressing gown, “You aren’t a little girl are you?” he asked as he pressed the heel of his palm into Sherlock’s thickening prick.

Sherlock flushed bright red, “N-no, sir,” he stammered out. 

John squeezed his cock, “Such a naughty boy,” John said darkly, “Look how aroused you are from being in these panties. I’ll have to teach you a lesson, won’t I?”

Sherlock nodded against the table where his body had steadily drooped as John had continued toying with his bottom. 

“Right, young man, up you get,” John said. “Into the living room and I want you to bend over the arm of the sofa.”

Sherlock did as he was told and walked into the living room and leaned over the arm of the sofa, already feeling deliciously vulnerable and exposed.

John flipped his robe up so Sherlock’s bottom was on display, the cool air of the room brushing across his skin. Sherlock could only imagine what John could see, the thong was a lovely shade of aubergine, the lace framed the tops of his creamy buttocks. He knew he made a compelling picture. John rubbed his hand over Sherlock’s bottom again, “Just look at you, naughty boy, with your little bottom on display. Imagine what someone would think if they came in a saw you right now.” 

Sherlock’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he imagined a client walking in on him when he was spread across the arm of the sofa with his butt stuck up in the air and his cock making his panties bulge obscenely. He buried his face in his arms on the sofa and his hips wiggled in embarrassment. 

Then John slapped his bottom and Sherlock cried out, startled by the sting. John slapped his other cheek, “Imagine if Greg came to bring you a case,” John murmured.

Sherlock gasped at the image, his cheeks flooding with colour at the thought. It would be mortifying if Lestrade came in and found him here like this with his bottom on display. He would probably be able to see Sherlock’s hole through the sheer fabric of his thong and he would definitely be able to make out Sherlock’s cock flushed with blood hanging between his legs. The thought made his balls clench. 

John continued spanking Sherlock’s arse cheeks one and then the other, covering the rounded globes with sharp, stinging smacks. Sherlock gasps and whimpers turned into louder, keening cries, his bottom feeling hot and stinging as wave after wave of pain and pleasure fizzled through him, leaving him gasping for breath and light-headed with lust. 

Eventually it started to sting so badly that Sherlock found himself wiggling and squeezing his cheeks together in between spanks to alleviate some of the burn radiating from his skin. He had to fight the desire to reach back and cover his bottom with his hands, to rub at his sore flesh until the stinging dissipated.

“Your bottom’s getting rather pink,” John commented as he stopped spanking Sherlock and switched to rubbing Sherlock’s buttocks, squeezing them in his hands and massaging the sore globes. 

Sherlock groaned and pressed his head into his arms, his breath coming in ragged pants, his hips twitched, pressing his cock against the arm of the sofa and making him moan at the sensation.

“Right,” John said, reaching around Sherlock’s middle and Sherlock thought perhaps John was going to touch his cock. His legs spread automatically to give John space but John’s hand just went to the sash on Sherlock’s robe, untying it and pulling it off of Sherlock’s shoulders.

Sherlock’s cheeks burned almost as red as his bottom as John stripped him of his robe, leaving him spread out over the arm of the sofa in nothing but a skimpy thong. In fact, Sherlock thought in the distant part of his mind that was still functioning, he might have felt less exposed if he was completely naked than he did lying there in just the thong.

“Alright, dirty boy, you wanted to show off those skimpy panties, go stand in the corner with your little red bottom facing the room.”

Sherlock whimpered at the thought, it was so degrading. Did John really expect him to go and stand in the corner like a naughty child? He couldn’t, Sherlock couldn’t do it, he would die of embarrassment. His balls were barely covered by the thong and at this point his cock was mostly exposed. 

But his bottom was the worst part, he was sure it was bright pink, anyone who came into the flat would see his pink bottom and know without a doubt that he had been spanked like a naughty child. He couldn’t stand the thought, he buried his face in his arms and rubbed it against the couch as he shook his head.

“That,” John said as he smacked Sherlock’s arse hard enough to make Sherlock yelp, “Was,” another stinging blow to his buttock, “Not,” a sharp swat to Sherlock’s delicate sit spot just below his right cheek, “A,” a smack to the sit spot below his left, “Request.” 

Then John started to spank him again at a rapid fire pace, alternating between buttocks and covering Sherlock’s bottom until Sherlock cried out, “Please!”

John gave him one more firm swat in the dead center of his bottom just over Sherlock’s hole and Sherlock’s balls clenched. “Are you ready to march your naughty bottom over to the corner and stand there?” he asked.

Sherlock nodded, his cheeks flushed.

“Go on then,” John said. 

Sherlock stood up, feeling utterly exposed, his hands moved to cover his cock that was possibly harder than it had ever been and smearing precome across his belly. 

John swatted his bottom as he started to walk, “Hands behind your head, you wanted to wear these panties, Sherlock. You wanted to be on display the way you are, you naughty little thing. Go and stand in the corner and hope no one walks through that door.”

Sherlock swallowed and linked his hands behind his head, he glanced down at his cock as he walked to the corner watching it bob with his motion and couldn’t help but feel completely overwhelmed by embarrassment. He heard John puttering around the flat, but couldn’t determine what he was doing; his mind was too alight with sensation to be able to tell exactly what his flatmate was up to.

The longer he stood there, the more embarrassed he got, he started to squirm in the corner wanting desperately to reach back and cover his bottom with his palms. He could practically feel the weight of John’s gaze on his red buttocks, he was sure John could see his balls hanging low in their fabric cradle, and his cock only seemed to get harder with every passing moment. 

After what seemed like an eternity, he couldn’t help himself, he glanced over his shoulder to look at John. He got only a glimpse before John was speaking to him but what he saw made him shudder. John was sitting in his chair with one leg crossed over the other, his cheek resting on his palm, looking as calm and collected as could be as he traced a thumb over his lips contemplatively.

But as soon as he looked up from Sherlock’s bottom to his face his eyes narrowed, “Did I say you could turn around?”

“No, sir,” Sherlock said, his head whipping around to face the wall.

There was a long moment of silence before the other man spoke again with that quiet authority that made Sherlock want to dry hump his leg. “I want you to march your naughty little bottom over to the desk, take out the paddle you bought, and bring it over to me,” John told him.

Sherlock groaned at the thought, his mouth filling with saliva as he imagined John taking the paddle to his sore arse. His cock twitched in interest and he clenched his buttocks together.

“Now, Sherlock.”

Those were the magic words apparently, because Sherlock found himself turning to walk back toward the desk, and subsequently John, without consciously deciding to do so. 

When he looked at John, he saw John’s eyes were glued to his crotch. Sherlock followed his gaze to see his cock poking obscenely out of the fabric, bouncing with every step, and his hands automatically came down to cover himself. It was indecent. Having most of his cock on display was completely mortifying and he couldn’t help but shield himself from John’s gaze.

“Sherlock,” John warned. “Put your hands down. You put these panties on, you need to live with the consequences.”

Reluctantly, Sherlock dropped his hands to his sides, his fingers balled into fists to keep him from reaching forward to cover himself. His nipples tightened and his cock twitched as his embarrassment at being so utterly exposed grew, a sight which didn’t go unnoticed if the smirk on John’s lips was anything to go by. 

Sherlock got to the desk and was grateful that getting the paddle required him to turn away from John and shield his seemingly ever-growing erection. Unfortunately, he also had to stretch low to reach the bottom drawer. He started to squat, thinking that was surely the most dignified way to retrieve the paddle, but John tsked, “Bend over.”

So Sherlock did, his cheeks flushing red as he bent and put his bottom on display once again, the lace of the thong sliding even further between his cheeks as his cock and balls pressed forward with gravity. The fabric dragged deliciously against his hole and he couldn’t stop the way his hips twitched and Sherlock almost lost his balance. John made an amused sound and Sherlock felt himself flushing from the tips of his toes all the way to the roots of his hair. 

He looked down and watched as a long pearly thread of precome leaked from the tip of his cock and rolled down his length. It was unbelievable that something so small could feel that good.

"Sherlock," John prompted.

With a low moan, he pulled the paddle out of the drawer and brought it to John.

John took it and inspected it, turning it to and fro in his hand. After a moment, he held out his left hand and slapped his palm with the paddle, he gave a short hum before turning his attention back to Sherlock once more. “Bend over my lap.”

“Over your lap?” Sherlock asked incredulously, he didn’t think his pride could allow this after all of the other indignities he’d already experienced this afternoon.

“Yes,” John said calmly but surely. “I’m going to take you over my knee and paddle your naughty bottom until it is bright red.”

Sherlock’s cheeks flushed and he glanced at the door. It was still wide open for anyone to come through, he couldn’t bear the thought of someone walking in and seeing him bent over John’s knee being spanked.

Before he could protest further, however, John reached up, gripped his wrists, and none too gently tugged him until Sherlock was sprawled in an ungainly heap across his lap. One of John’s knees pressed into Sherlock’s abdomen, the other pressed against his thighs, and Sherlock found himself reaching forward to steady himself with his hands as his feet came up off the floor. 

He’d barely managed to get himself situated before John smacked his bum with the paddle. Sherlock's cheeks jiggled and he cried out as the wave of pain washed through him, making his cock twitch and dribble precome onto John’s trousers. The wave of pain and pleasure (and probably the way his head was hanging) made him dizzy. 

“You have been a very naughty boy,” John reprimanded him as he continued to spank Sherlock’s bottom. “You’ve been disobedient and haven’t followed any of my instructions the first time, and just look at the naughty panties you’ve put on. You look like such a slut, Sherlock.”

Sherlock cheeks flamed and he let out a gurgling groan, whether from pain or pleasure he wasn’t entirely sure. Embarrassment was burning him from the inside out, but he was so aroused his cock physically ached. “You deserve for everyone to know what a naughty, dirty boy you are. I hope someone walks in right now and takes a picture of me paddling your naughty little bottom bright red. Just imagine it Sherlock, how fast do you think a picture like that would hit the papers?”

Sherlock shuddered at the thought of his bright red bottom being posted in tomorrow’s newspaper. He’d no doubt the press would jump at the opportunity to humiliate him. The paddle continued to strike his skin, his hips jerking with each slap.

“Imagine if every newspaper stand you walked past had your bare arse being shown in the pictures,” John continued, the paddle made Sherlock’s rump feel like it was on fire, waves of heat and pain seemed to radiate through his groin and into his cock as it pulsed and twitched in the open air between John’s well placed thighs. “Every grocery store, every shopping centre, everywhere you went you would see your bottom, red and hot, displayed for the world to see. Everyone would know what a naughty, dirty boy you are.” 

Sherlock was so hard, he wondered if he could come without having his cock touched at all.

Then John stopped and Sherlock whimpered at the loss. 

John’s hand rubbed over his bottom, soothing the sting and John hushed him. It was only then that Sherlock realized that he was crying out and whimpering still. 

“I’m going to fuck this hot little arse,” John murmured but made no move to do so immediately, his hands continued to knead Sherlock’s buttocks, helping the sting to fade into a dull sort of pulsing ache that echoed in his cock and balls. 

After a long moment, Sherlock felt the top of his thong being pulled down so the strip of fabric wouldn’t cover his hole. And if Sherlock had felt naked and exposed before he was entirely unprepared for the way he felt with his panties pulled down just below his buttocks, his (undoubtedly red) bottom still exposed to the door. He felt completely helpless to do anything as John pried apart his buttocks with his left hand and ran his forefinger over Sherlock’s hole with his right. John trailed his finger teasingly along Sherlock’s entrance, feather light, and it felt almost like being tickled. He squirmed, wishing desperately for something to rub his cock against.

The finger toying with his hole disappeared and a moment later Sherlock heard the lube being uncapped and the cool liquid was squirted unceremoniously between his buttocks. He shuddered and his hips jerked at the contact, the cold a striking contrast to the heat still radiating from his bottom through his groin. A moan of pleasure and pain slipped through his lips as he clenched instinctively against the sensation. 

A heartbeat later, John’s finger was back at Sherlock’s hole, teasingly pressing in over and over just the first inch or so. Sherlock moaned and used the leverage he had from his hands on the floor to press back against John’s finger but John’s other hand, which had formerly been spreading his buttocks, slapped his cheeks again. “Stay still.”

Sherlock groaned and tried to still his hips, he really did, but as John started to work his finger further in and out of his hole Sherlock couldn’t help the way his body jerked and shuddered, reaching for John and wordlessly begging for more.

John’s hand disappeared for a moment and Sherlock mentally prepared himself for another spank. 

Instead, “Hold yourself open for me,” John said. His voice slid over Sherlock’s body and through his very veins. The words didn’t even register in his mind, they just flowed straight through him in a delightful trail of light and heat. 

“Sherlock,” John said, voice a little firmer this time. “Hold yourself open for me.”

Flushing, both at the way his brain had decided to not process the words originally and at the request, Sherlock reached back with both hands and grasped his stinging, hot buttocks. This position didn’t give him any sort of leverage, which he was sure was exactly the point.

“Good,” John purred and Sherlock could have wept at the way that simple word made him feel. John’s left hand rested on Sherlock’s back, steadying him as he slowly pressed his forefinger inside of Sherlock once more. 

It was as if not having his hands available to him burst a dam inside of him, garbled words, whimpers, and moans flowed unceasingly from his mouth as John loosened and stretched him torturously slowly with one finger. 

When Sherlock was keening, his entire body slick with sweat and he didn’t know if he could take even a moment more, John murmured, “Do you want another?”

“Yes,” he gasped without hesitation. “Yes, another!”

“Ask nicely,” John chided.

“Please,” he begged. “Please, John. Please put another finger inside of me. I _need_ it.”

“Good boy,” he murmured and Sherlock wailed. John withdrew his finger and Sherlock felt like he was about to burst into tears. “Easy,” John said, then more lube was spilled between his buttocks, some dribbling directly into Sherlock’s hole, “That’s it,” John groaned.

Two fingers were at his entrance then, stretching his rim as they slid home. “Hnngh,” Sherlock moaned, letting his head drop forward as John steadily pressed in until his fingers were buried as deeply in Sherlock’s arse as they could go. The room was filled with the harsh sound of Sherlock’s breathing and moaning, his fingers dug into his flesh as he tried to spread himself further to get John’s fingers in deeper.

“Look at you,” John murmured. “Fuck, Sherlock.” His fingers started to move, then, pressing in and pulling out for a few minutes until there was no resistance. His hole was stretched further as John began scissoring his fingers, spreading him wider. “Look at you,” he murmured again, his gaze like a brand on the most private, intimate part of Sherlock’s body. “So good for me, such a good boy.” 

_“John,”_ he whimpered, everything in his mind narrowing down to this, anchoring him to his body and what it needed. 

His body jackknifed as John’s fingers curled within him and brushed over his prostate. “There,” he begged. “John, _please._ Right there.” He writhed on John’s lap, squirming as he tried to get more of that delicious pressure on his prostate. 

“Do you like that?” John asked. “Do you like having your tiny hole stretched wide around my fingers?”

“Yes,” he moaned in reply. 

“Are you imagining what it will feel like to have my cock pressing inside of you? Imagining how much fuller you’ll feel, how much wider you’ll be spread?” He asked, his voice like honey in Sherlock’s veins. 

Imagining what John was saying made his toes curl. John had many fine qualities and there were many reasons that Sherlock loved him, but one of the most shallow, base reasons was his enormous cock. He’d always had a bit of a thing about size, but John took the cake, he could feel the echo of John’s cock for hours, days even, after he'd finished. He loved John’s cock. 

A third finger found its way in while Sherlock was busy thinking about John’s cock and he cried out as his hole was stretched wider. “Yes!” he begged. “John, yes.”

”You take my fingers so well,” John praised. “You’re such a good boy for me.”

His fingers sank fully into Sherlock’s body, they stroked along his interior walls and Sherlock desperately wished for something to rut against to relieve some of the ache in his cock. John teased him, twisting and spreading his fingers, stretching his rim and rubbing near that tiny bundle of nerves that made Sherlock see stars but never quite touching it. 

Sherlock was all but sobbing when John, quite suddenly and without any warning, pulled his fingers out. “Please,” he begged. “Please, please, _please!_ Don’t stop,” he gasped. 

“Shhh,” John murmured, his left hand rubbing up Sherlock’s spine, then back down again in what Sherlock assumed was meant to be a soothing manner but only served to make Sherlock feel like John was unzipping his spine and encouraging his consciousness to float even higher away from his body. 

A moan escaped his lips as something cool and unyielding was pressed against his entrance, spreading him and opening his body once more. 

“That’s it,” John encouraged as the dildo pushed in past the first ring of muscles. “Take it for me.” 

Sherlock let out a shuddering breath and it slipped further in. It was slightly larger than three fingers and significantly more unyielding, Sherlock involuntarily clenched around it and couldn't help the moan that escaped his lungs as his clenching drew the toy in further still. 

“Good boy,” John murmured, “Almost there.”

He whimpered as the toy slid all the way in, filling him and stretching him. His breath escaped in moans and whimpers. 

“Lovely,” John praised. “So good for me. Look at how stretched your tiny little hole is around this toy.” His forefinger traced around the dildo and Sherlock’s body shook with pleasure and anticipation. 

Every muscle in Sherlock's body quivered as John’s hands stroked over his flesh, one soothingly rubbing his back while the other teased around his rim as though he might slip a finger in alongside the toy. “John, please,” he begged, needing something, anything, to happen desperately.

“Do you want to be my good boy, Sherlock?” John asked, his fingers carding through the curls at the nape of Sherlock’s neck.

He nodded vigorously, “Yes,” he whimpered.

“Good,” John murmured. A moment later John’s hands were no longer touching Sherlock’s body, the pitiful noise this fact drew from his mouth might have been embarrassing were it not for the fact that Sherlock could feel no shame whatsoever at the moment. 

“It’s alright,” John soothed, then there was the slide of soft fabric against the delicate skin of his wrists as John tied his hands behind his back. 

He whimpered, his hips twitching as a long string of precome leaked from his cock. 

“That’s it,” the other man encouraged. “Fuck but you’re beautiful.” Once his hands were tied John helped him to get off his lap. “Kneel,” he said, indicating the floor between his spread knees. 

Sherlock hastened to obey, nearly toppling over in his enthusiasm, only John’s steadying hands on his shoulders kept him from falling face first into John’s lap.

“So eager,” John encouraged, only releasing Sherlock’s shoulders once he was settled on his knees. His fingers went to his belt buckle and Sherlock’s mouth filled with saliva. The belt was removed with practiced ease, then John’s fingers moved to his button and zip.

As soon as the zip was down, Sherlock couldn’t help himself, he leaned in close and nuzzled against John’s clothed erection, breathing in the clean scent of John’s arousal through his pants. He moaned, opening his mouth over the outline of John’s cock and sucking. 

“Just a moment,” John chastised gently, nudging Sherlock back from his cock enough that he could pull his trousers and pants down around his hips, exposing himself for Sherlock’s pleasure. 

He’d barely gotten his arse back in the chair before Sherlock was on his cock once more, taking the head into his mouth and moaning around it. 

“Fuck,” John groaned, his right hand slid into Sherlock’s curls, massaging his scalp. “There you go, darling.”

He whimpered and saliva leaked out of the corners of his mouth, sliding down John’s cock and making it grow harder still. Sherlock loved this. He loved the taste of John’s arousal, loved the way his cock stretched his jaw wide, loved the soft huffs John made when he licked and sucked him, loved the encouraging words and praise that slipped from his mouth. 

“So good,” he hummed. Sherlock looked up to see that John had tilted his head back against the chair, eyes closed as he enjoyed the feeling of Sherlock’s mouth on his cock. 

Smugly Sherlock continued sucking, lowering his mouth further on to John’s cock and taking him deeper. 

Hands slipped further into his hair, steadying Sherlock’s head as his hips pressed up further into his mouth. “Fuck, baby,” John groaned. “That’s it. Take it, take me.”

Relaxing his throat muscles to take John deeper was a skill he’d had quite a bit of practice with, he still couldn’t manage to take him entirely but the other man didn’t seem to mind. 

“Perfect,” John moaned. “That’s so good, Sherlock. You’re so good.” He continued to thrust leisurely in and out of Sherlock’s mouth, always stopping before the point that Sherlock couldn’t take anymore. 

Sherlock moaned around John’s cock, it felt so good to have him in his mouth. He let his mind go blank as John moved in and out of his mouth, let himself be engulfed by the taste, and feel, and smell of John. 

His core muscles started to ache from holding himself steady as John fucked into his mouth and he began to wish his hands were untied so he could use them to keep his balance; he clenched his muscles to remain upright at a particularly good thrust and the toy inside of him pressed his prostate. “Mmrrggh,” he groaned around John’s erection as his balls clenched and pulsed. 

“Stop,” John groaned. “Stop, sweetheart,” he said as he tugged at Sherlock’s curls until he’d popped off. “Stand up,” he instructed.

It took a long moment for Sherlock to get his muscles to cooperate but eventually he managed to get his feet under him. 

John stared at him for a long moment, eyes tracing over his collarbone, across his nipples, down his abdomen, before coming to rest on his cock. He could feel his gaze as it roved his flesh almost tangibly. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” John breathed. 

His knees felt a bit weak and he suddenly felt a bit light-headed. 

The other man looked up at him, eyes warm and bright, “Come here,” he said, reaching out to clasp Sherlock’s hip and draw him closer. 

Sherlock stepped forward until his cock, still partially covered by the lace of his panties, was near enough to John that he could feel the heat of his breath ghosting over the head. “John,” he whimpered. His arms tested the fabric binding them behind his back as he tried to reach out, visions of his fingers clenching in the soft fabric of John’s jumper flitting before his eyes.

Teasingly John allowed his tongue to poke out between his lips as he leaned forward and flicked it against Sherlock’s slit to collect the precome that had gathered there. Sherlock’s whole body quivered and clenched, forcing the dildo to rub mercilessly against his prostate. He was certain he would have fallen over were it not for John’s hands reaching up and clasping his hips to hold him steady. “I’ve got you,” he assured him, then his fingers slipped into the top of Sherlock’s panties and he slid them down over his legs, bending forward as he encouraged Sherlock to step out of them.

When Sherlock was stripped bare, John leaned back in his chair, his gaze once again traveling the dips and curves of Sherlock’s body. John’s tongue came out and he trailed it over his lower lip before saying, “Bed, I think.”

Nodding eagerly, Sherlock turned toward their room and started off. John caught up a heartbeat later and untied the knot binding his arms together. Sherlock nearly stumbled with the relief at being able to stretch his arms, but John caught him with an arm around his waist. Fully clothed, John pressed against Sherlock’s back, the soft sweater a delicious counterpoint to the coarse fabric of his jeans that scraped over his buttocks and reminded him of how sore his arse still was. He let out a soft whimper and John nipped at his bare shoulder with his teeth as they stumbled together into the room.

“Hands and knees,” John said, relinquishing his hold on Sherlock. 

Sherlock crawled onto the bed, getting on his hands and knees and presenting his arse to John. He wondered vaguely if his bottom was still red from the spanking and then buried his face in the pillows as he imagined what he must look like. 

“You look stunning,” John said, as though he could hear Sherlock’s thoughts. 

Sherlock hummed low in his throat but didn’t look up. After a moment, when he listened to John’s clothes hit the floor, the bed dipped near his hip, “Hands up,” John murmured, before pressing a kiss to his rib cage. 

Groaning, he reached his hands up over his head and John tied them once again, looping the fabric around one of the slats in the headboard to keep his hands up. Sherlock stretched his back a bit and John must have taken notice as he slid his palm over the arch of Sherlock’s back. 

"Alright?" John asked, softly.

Sherlock nodded and murmured, "yes." He knew it was important to John to hear him respond verbally.

“Simply stunning,” John murmured. 

Sherlock flushed, irrationally pleased at John’s words. The bed shifted again as John moved around behind Sherlock, rubbing his hands over his back and down to his buttocks. He moaned and his cock twitched, he was still no closer to being able to rub against anything. 

After another generous squeeze, John pried Sherlock’s buttocks apart and rubbed around the toy once more before drawing it slowly out. 

Keening, he arched his back and spread his legs, hoping that it would soon be replaced by John’s cock. “Yes,” he moaned. 

But instead of pulling it all the way out, he started to push the toy back inside once more, slowly fucking Sherlock with it. On an outward stroke, John drizzled more lube onto the dildo and Sherlock's hole began making slick, wet sounds as his body took it in over and over. John angled the dildo so it rubbed over Sherlock’s prostate again and again until Sherlock’s entire body was slick with sweat and he was shuddering from his scalp to the soles of his feet. Everything felt hot and tight and he was vaguely light-headed; there was nothing in his mind but this. Nothing but pleasure and desire, nothing but desperate longing and the knowledge in the back of his mind that he would get everything that he needed and wanted from his lover.

“So good,” John groaned, nipping lightly at Sherlock’s right buttock and making Sherlock twitch so hard that the dildo slipped entirely out of his hole. 

He cried out, the longing to be filled and stretched slicing through the pit of his stomach like a hot knife through butter.

“Shh,” John soothed and three fingers were pressing back inside of Sherlock, somehow he’d managed to pour lube on them before pressing them inside of Sherlock, making his hole even slicker the sound of the lube squelching as John fucked him with his fingers filled the room and Sherlock exhaled on a low moan. It felt as filthy and satisfying as it sounded.

It seemed to be only seconds before John was withdrawing his fingers. “Please,” Sherlock begged. “John, please.” 

“I know,” John replied. "I know, darling."

Then Sherlock felt the head of John’s slick cock rubbing against his entrance, he squirmed and moaned, stretching his body back as far as he could, tugging hard at the fabric around his wrists, as he tried to impale himself on John’s erection. 

“I know,” John soothed again, grasping his hip with one hand to hold him steady and guiding his cock inside of Sherlock with the other.

The stretch was always intense. No matter how well John prepared him, it always felt like John’s cock was going to split him wide open. The pressure, the way it felt like John’s cock would never be fully seated, the way he filled Sherlock to the very brim, it made him ache. Every time it simultaneously broke something inside of Sherlock while somehow making him feel whole and complete in a way he never had before John. 

John was speaking to him, his voice low and soft when he finally bottomed out. Sherlock hadn’t heard a word, he’d been too focused on the way his entire world was shifting on its axis, slipping out of focus before coming back into view even more clearly than before. “Sherlock,” he said again.

“Hmmm?” he managed, quite admirably in his own opinion.

“Alright?” 

Incandescent. Extraordinary. Radiant. Brilliant. Transcendent. Any of those words or a thousand others like them would have sufficed if only Sherlock could have made words come out of his mouth. Instead he slurred, “So good,” and hoped that would be marginally adequate.

“I love you,” John groaned as he drew back and pressed back in again, slowly and surely stretching Sherlock even further until the burn subsided.

Sherlock could never figure out how John _knew_ when he was comfortable but John always did. It was like a switch flipped and then John was pounding into him. Sherlock clasped the headboard to keep from getting shoved forward. He keened long and high as John rocked into him, hitting his prostate on every thrust. Every time John’s hips slapped his arse, a spark of pain danced through his bloodstream, buzzing and turning immediately into pleasure.

“Fuck Sherlock,” John panted, his lips and mouth moved across his shoulders, sucking and kissing and nibbling, definitely leaving bruises, and driving Sherlock completely wild. 

His muscles clenched around John and he desperately thrust himself back on John’s cock, their bodies moving in time with one another, sweat making the sinuous slide of their bodies even more pleasurable. 

"So good," John groaned, "All mine." 

"Yes," Sherlock whimpered.

"I," he paused to moan as Sherlock clenched around him, "Locked the door downstairs." He pressed his forehead against Sherlock's spine, "I'd never let anyone else see you like that. Never." He bit Sherlock's shoulder and Sherlock keened. "You're all mine."

"Yes," he said again. "Yours, John." His cock ached. He’d been hard for so long at this point, on the edge for so long, that he was desperate for release. If his hands hadn’t been tied to the headboard there’s nothing that would have stopped him from reaching down and stroking his erection until he spilled all across their duvet. 

He was all but sobbing, begging incoherently when John came inside of him, his body slamming hard into Sherlock’s one more time, his fingers clenching Sherlock's hips hard enough to leave bruises, as he shuddered and filled Sherlock completely.

It felt so good, John filling him with his come, there were few sensations that Sherlock enjoyed more, but he couldn’t stop wiggling and whimpering. He was so turned on, so desperate to come. 

The bindings around his wrists were released but John flipped him onto his back and pinned his hands to the mattress before he could get one around his erection. “Please,” he begged, his body arching and reaching upward toward John, toward release and blinding pleasure.

“I’ve got you,” John promised, sliding down his body. Three fingers pressed inside of him, pushing his come even deeper inside of him, squelching obscenely as his lips wrapped around Sherlock’s cock, swallowing him down to the root. 

He fisted his fingers in John’s hair and came with a shout just moments later. John sucked hard, slurping obscenely and swallowing as wave after wave of bliss rolled over Sherlock. Everything went quiet. Blissful stillness, silence, like he’d been wrapped up in cotton. 

When he opened his eyes again, he’d been rolled over onto his stomach and John was massaging his arse. “Nnngh,” he got out before clearing his throat and slurring, “No round two for me tonight, thanks.”

John chuckled, “I’m just using some ointment to help keep you from feeling too much pain in your bum tomorrow.”

“Mmmh,” he hummed, closing his eyes and drifting in the quiet space that was his mind at the moment. 

After fully tending to his arse, John stretched out on the bed next to him and Sherlock huffed, squirming closer until his head was rested on John’s chest and John’s arm was wrapped around him, his fingers swirling patterns along his spine. 

“I love you,” John whispered, pressing a kiss to his curls.

“Me too,” Sherlock mumbled. “Love you, that is.”

“I know what you meant,” he replied and Sherlock could hear the smile in his voice, the one that made him feel the way he did on sunny days in the autumn.

“That was _really_ good,” Sherlock informed him.

“I’m glad,” John replied. 

“Knew you’d get there eventually.”

“Hmm?”

“To the spanking bit,” Sherlock said, then added through a yawn, “It took you ages.”

John huffed, “You could have used your words, you know. You’re the mind reader, not me.”

“But you always get there eventually," he murmured sleepily before pressing a kiss over the center of John's chest.

"You're lucky I love you," he replied, but his voice was soft and teasing.

"I rather am, aren't I?" he asked, quite contentedly.

"I am, too," John whispered. "The luckiest man in the world."

**Author's Note:**

> Errr... So that's it. Hope you enjoyed it; kind comments are always appreciated if you did. :)


End file.
